Unloveable
by Dollyrocker85
Summary: "I should get a live in one" Well, Jim has done just that. Shameless Mollyarty, rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, so yet again a villain called Jim has got myself and my partner in crime (Scully) out of retirement. This is just going to be a few chapters of shameless Mollyarty. Hope you like it.

Chapter 1

"_I'm on the side of the angels, but the devil is my best friend" - The Damned_

Molly Hooper was, of course, aware of the condition of which she was currently suffering: Stockholm Syndrome. Although it didn't feel like _suffering_ per se; not any more, at least. "It'll be easier once you stop fighting it, love," he had said to her in cruel, sickly sweet mocking tones as he bent her arm so far up her back that it had been useless to her for a good few hours when he eventually let her go, and she saw in hindsight that he was indeed right. She had long since stopped fighting _it._

She noted that these days he didn't so much as bother to hide his gun, it laid as idle as its owner on the bedside table. He knew he had her. Once upon a time she would have seized it from him, hands fumbling and unsteady, pointing it in his general direction and screaming her empty threats at him for long minutes until he reminded her that no one else, including herself, knew where the hell they were and that he was her only chance of ever getting out alive. Moreover, she would only be granted that opportunity if she were very lucky. If he grew bored of her or she angered him too greatly, she would merely become another chalk line on Jim Moriarty's body count.

He barely looked capable of such temper and cruelty as he slept beside her, arms tucked under his pillow, lips in a boyish pout. He looked younger than his 35 years, much younger, but of course she couldn't be sure that was his real age; there were days when she doubted everything around her. She had learnt the hard way not to voice these concerns to Jim. On one of her particularly bad days, early on when she had refused to eat for long periods of time and stopped communicating with Jim, he had threatened her with so many innovative methods of torture and she had only stared back at him catatonically with empty, emotionless eyes. Moriarty wore himself out like a tantruming child, shoulders slumped as he knelt down to level with her. She'd never seen him defeated before, and hid a tiny smile of triumph as he slung her over his shoulder and dumped her roughly into bed.

As he pulled up the covers around her, he shot her a warm smile that didn't quite match the expression in his eyes; it was almost as if he were wearing a mask, a cheap Halloween mask that wasn't convincing anyone, but yet was somehow doubly scary because of it. Despite her fear, she'd been so starved of any human compassion for months now, and she took the bait. Breaking her silence, she whispered in hushed, pleading tones: "I don't know what's real anymore; are you real...am I even..._alive? _"In an instant Jim had straddled her, knocking the breath clean out of her chest. His hands encompassed her throat and compressed until the room faded from view; all she was aware of was Jim's bitter snarling in her head: _"Of course you're alive, Molly. You're alive because I let you be alive, and you will be alive as long as I want you to be, do you understand?_" She was incoherent, eyes rolling back into her head. _"I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" She_ wanted to answer him that time, really wanted to, but her voice wouldn't come and Jim was sounding further away despite the fury in his tone. Moments passed, quick-quick slow...

_"Ok, Mols, breathe..._" What was that in his tone; this was new?

"_Breathe,Molly!_" Yes, that was...worry, wasn't it? Concern, even?

"_BREATHE,YOU FUCKING BITCH!_"

And, like a pet obeying its master, she shot to life, her sore throat gulping in big breaths of air. Gradually the room came back into view and she laid there flat on her back, staring up at the low cottage ceiling just enjoying the air in her lungs; she had never relished the sensation of breathing so much before. Eventually she became aware that Jim was now in bed beside her, his arms around her middle and his head resting on her shoulder. "You need to snap out of this now, Molly, no more of this nonsense..." His teeth nipped at the skin of her shoulder as he spoke. If she had known better, she would have said that he had scared himself, or rather she had scared him. Was he scared of losing her? Or was he fearful at the realisation that he was scared of losing her? Either way, it may have been a small victory for Molly, but a victory nonetheless.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Molly dared to trace her fingers lightly over a scar that ran down his lower back; it was raised and angrier than it should be. Had she had access to a suture kit she could have done a much neater job, but alas, that is what you get for being held hostage in the middle of nowhere, with not a living soul for miles. She'd had no choice but to work with a few butterfly stitches and some Dettol that she found in an out-of-date first aid kit.

Her stomach sank as she recalled the evening she had been roused from her sleep to the sound of thunderous pounding on the cottage door.

Who the hell could that be? No one visits apart from Jim, and Jim would never knock, not even to spare her blushes while she was getting dressed in the morning.

_**BANG, BANG, BANG!**_

There it was again.

"Who is it? I'm sorry...I can't let you in..." she called out, unsure and excited at the prospect of another living creature being on the opposite side of the door. "...I'm locked in, you see? I don't know the code," she whimpered, feeling pathetic. Jim had rigged the place up like Fort Knox. The door had an electronic pass code that she had long since given up on deducing; he changed it every few days, anyway. It was hopeless. Suddenly the lights on the key pad shone green and the door clicked unlocked.

For a few blissful seconds she had stood there confused, looking out to the darkest night she had ever seen. Living in the city you never really appreciate how dark, blank and silent the night really is. She peered out cautiously, like an animal that has been bred in captivity only to see daylight for the first time. Was he letting her go? Her joy was short lived-she was roused from her lament by the groans of a particularly weak and crumpled looking Jim, who was slumped against the wall by the door, blood streaming down his face onto a ravaged, white dress shirt. Her eyes grew wide as she went to steady him, only to find the back of his shirt almost completely open, his back ripped to shreds with shrapnel.

"What the hell happened?" Molly shrieked, her voice showing more concern than perhaps it should.

"You should have seen the other guy!" Jim slurred, drowsy from blood loss, but still willing to defend his male pride.

Molly swallowed down the feeling of nausea, of being utterly out of her depth. "Your back's a mess, Jim-seriously, you need to go to hospital, I can't fix that here!"

"Not an option-if you recall, I'm dead..." She could have sworn that he rolled his eyes. "...Plus, I get the feeling A&E is going to be busy tonight...there's been an explosion, would you believe?" His voice held a strange joviality to it given the current situation. Molly shuddered. Life really _was_ cheap to Jim Moriarty, even his own.

It was sheer determination that allowed her to haul his almost-dead weight into the bathroom and into the bath. She handed him a glass of neat Jamesons and set about methodically extracting the shrapnel from his back. Molly hated working on live patients; a corpse didn't shriek or wince when you dug something out of its flesh. He was remarkably brave, she thought; it must have been agony, but he just clutched onto the glass in his hands and let her pull out the pieces of tile and glass that peppered his back, rinsing the wounds as she went. He was pale and doing his best to conceal the fact that he was trembling slightly. Despite herself, despite all he had done she felt a pang of pity...and perhaps even something else?

Forgetting herself, she reached out a hand and stroked his hair lightly; it was matted with blood. "What did you do this time, Jimmy?" she sighed, her voice half out of breath.

**Hmm, maybe that was the night he ceased to be,"Moriarty" and became, "Jimmy"**

His head leaned into her hand, the alcohol allowing him to enjoy this fleeting moment of human contact. "I got a bit carried away; you know what I'm like when I get going..." Molly was perplexed at this strangely domestic observation of his; she didn't feel like she knew him at all. "...Well, I was just kindly explaining to my captors the reason that I was going to raze their sorry little shack to the ground and I kind of ran out of time; turns out I can't run as fast as I used to. It was my favorite Westwood, as well!" he huffed, all theatrical disappointment, draining the last few drops of whiskey from his glass.

Molly's eyes darted about the room uncomfortably. Taking a sharp, shallow breath, she dared to ask: "Who were your captors?" Her hand was still in his hair, and she rubbed a thumb against his scalp as though to soothe him.

For a man who had just caught the tail end of an explosion, his reactions were impeccable. Slamming the glass on the side of the bath, he seized her wrist and pulled her hand roughly from his hair; the look on his face as he craned around to view her sent a chill to her soul. "Worried about your dear boy, Mol? I'm sat here, half dead, and you're worried that I have finally gotten to your dear Sherlock?" He spat the words out at her like venom, and at that moment Molly could have sworn she really did not have long left in this world. Spinning around to face her, he took a painful hold of her other wrist and pulled her close to him. As he spoke, she could almost taste the alcohol on his breath. "Do you know how long you have been here, Molly? One year, four months and seven days. He's not coming to rescue you, pet, he doesn't even miss you." That remark cut her like no other; looking down into her lap, her hands still within Jim's vice-like grip, she bit back tears. That comment hurt most because it was true. But Jim wasn't done; her concern for Sherlock had clearly hit a raw nerve. Who had thought that a drop of Jamesons and the loss of a few pints of blood would cause the great Jim Moriarty to let his normally steadfast composure slide?

"Do you think he would look after you the way that I do?" His Irish tones were coming through now.

"Do you think he would even remember to feed you?" he snorted with a cruel laugh. "Do you think he'd even bother to _fuck _you?" She struggled to free herself, tears burning her eyes, bewilderment filling her. Tired and sore, he relinquished his hold and Molly fled the bathroom, hand over her mouth as if to hold back vomit. What was happening to her...what was happening to _them?_


	3. Chapter 3

"**Whatever made you want me? I love the Ghost I swear you are, whatever made you want me? Be always, it's you and me forever, we always suffocate each other"**

– **King Adora**

After the explosion, Molly had intended to stay out of Jim's way. Although, despite her anger and frustration, she had helped him get dressed the next morning, and covered his wounds with dressings. All this was carried out in eerie, tension-filled silence. Why she bothered to help him was beyond her; perhaps it was the doctor in her coming through, even at her lowest ebb. She couldn't fight what she was: a good soul-light and good.

Jim broke the silence and murmured an almost inaudible"thank you" as she helped him on with his shirt. The look in his eyes told her this was a genuine sound of appreciation, his normally cold eyes looking soulful for once. But it was too late for Molly; had he shown such compassion last night, Lord knows what she may have done. But in the cold light of day, his observation that Sherlock wasn't coming for her whizzed around and around her head and tortured her to no end.

Jim left, locking her securely, and Molly was left alone again to stew in her own despair. She paced the house, gnawing at her now-nonexistent fingernails. She did not want to play this game anymore; she didn't want to live as Moriarty's pet and he was right-no one was missing her enough to look for her. If they ever had done, they had no doubt given up by now.

She spent the whole sorry day weeping and shaking with anguish, wandering the house whilst working away through Jim's bottle of Jameson's. She even dared to saunter into Jim's room; she floated around in a daze looking through his fine suits, the few books that he kept there, his expensive aftershaves. Clutching the bottle of Jameson's in one hand, she sat on the bed and let her other pull out his bedside drawer. She wasn't surprised to find a gun stashed there; he seemed to keep weapons of all descriptions stashed about the place, in every hidey-hole imaginable. She would have been no less surprised to find a hand grenade in there or a pound or so of Centex. These things were like his toys; he liked having them around and showing them off.

In a daze, she slumped down onto the floor next to his bed. Considering the gun, she inspected it closely.

_How do these things actually work, then? That's the catch, right? That has to be off for it to fire?_

She must have sat there for an hour or more, clutching at the gun as if it held her answer, as if that piece of metal itself could save her. And in a way it could, she knew that. After all of this time, maybe that was her only escape? The alcohol clouded her thoughts and she wept more at what she was considering. It took all of her steely resolve to point the gun at her forehead; her hands were shaking already.

Could she do this? Would she live to regret not doing it when she had the chance, in the days to come when Jim had devoured her completely? Because if this was life now, was it worth living?

This would serve him right, wouldn't it? She tried to imagine the look on his face as he walked in to find her brain matter soaked into his duvet cover...that would irk him massively.

Would he miss her?

She knew if she held the gun directly to her forehead that the sound would be no more than a low thud, not that there was anyone else around to hear it. For long searching minutes she rested her forehead on the barrel; it was like a standoff between them. Sweat gathered on her brow; she needed to do this now, the light was diming outside and time was getting on.

It had to be now, now, now, now...

Taking one last burning gulp of whiskey, she closed her eyes so tight that she saw stars shooting behind them, and raised the gun again to her forehead. This was it...

Feeling a sharp graze on her forehead she pulled the trigger. In a nanosecond her eyes sprung open and it was as though the bang of the gun had silenced the entire world and made her surroundings descend into slow motion.

She was aware of Jim's face hovering above hers, and a grip so vice-like on her wrist that it forced her to relinquish the gun; she heard it thud to the ground.

His mouth was moving and he looked as though he should be deafening her with his screaming but all sound was coming through as though she were under water; _was this what it was like to die?_

"You stupid, stupid, moron girl!" Jim yelled in her face, gripping her jaw roughly and squeezing it until it begged to snap. In her slow motion vision, he was quite a sight to behold. His eyes beamed into her, his fury was radiating off of him, so much so that it seemed to hit her in waves; she couldn't recall ever seeing him this angry.

Molly was brought back to reality with a solid open-palmed smack about the face; her head flew back with the impact and instinctively she sprung into animation. She was all arms and legs, waging war on him as he lifted her up on to the bed. Bits of plaster mingled in her hair and bit into her shoulders. As it turned out, she wasn't dying; Jim had knocked the gun out of her hands at the very last moment and she had blown a hole in the 200 year-old ceiling.

Jim's knees pinned her arms to her side and once again he restrained her completely. He shook with temper, but it in no way diminished his strength. She wanted to find her voice and tell him to kill her, that she was tired and wouldn't comply anymore, but Jim relentlessly rained down all of his outrage upon her.

"_WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOU STUPID, STUPID GIRL? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"_

His voice held genuine indignation; he was insulted that she would rob him of the opportunity to end her life. _How thoughtless of her!_

"_I WON'T FORGET THIS, MOLLY; I WON'T OVERLOOK THIS ANYTIME SOON, YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH!"_

It was moments like this that really shed light on Jim's confused view of the world. He was so painfully intelligent; it was hard to believe he thought he was doing her a favour by keeping her here, with him.

Molly's voice was hoarse, but she shot out her reply with as much vigour as she could. She had never dared to be so frank with him, but what was the worst that could happen now? He would shoot her?

"_WHAT DO YOU CARE? AREN'T YOU BORED WITH ME YET? JUST KILL ME! ANY WAY YOU WANT TO, BUT FOR GOD'S SAKE, JIM , JUST DO IT!"_

Jim sat back on his heels, still kneeling above her, not freeing her entirely. He raised both hands to his face and looked back down at her through his fingers; to Molly's confusion he looked...wounded. As though this had never been part of his plan, maybe her unwillingness to play along took the fun out of it for him. _Good_, she thought.

His breathing was slightly laboured and those seconds seemed to last an eternity.

"Is it that bad?" he sighed, his composure regained. He slumped forward, steadying himself on one hand by her head. "Is it so bad? Being here with me?" he asked again. "I'm not living anymore; I'm not alive, Jim..." Molly closed her eyes, longing to at least cover her face as her tears fell.

Jim gazed down at her, his expression unreadable; he wiped a tear away from her cheek and let his fingers ghost their idle way down her throat.

"I could make you feel alive...if you'd let me."


	4. Chapter 4

"**I know that I make you cry, I know sometimes you want to die, but do you really feel alive without me?"**

**-Damien Rice**

Something buried down inside her finally snapped; she didn't know what it was, but it felt like surrender.

Jim did not elaborate on his claim that he could do what seemed impossible and make her feel alive again, but something in the way his eyes were raking over her body told her he was about to prove his point.

The finger that had wiped away her tears carried on its journey south and undid her blouse. With hands like ice, he reached in and rested his hand, flat over her heart. It struck Molly as possibly the most intimate act they had ever shared. Placing him in the bath after the explosion had been an act of urgency, and she had looked on him with purely medical intent, but this, this made her feel exposed and vulnerable. For the first time in months, Molly felt the blood rushing through her veins.

"Still beating, then?" she enquired, looking up at Jim who seemed fascinated with her pounding heart; her words disturbed his concentration.

"Very much so..." he leaned his head to one side, in a decisively feline manner, "...it's getting faster and faster." Satisfaction dripped from every uttered word.

"Wonder why?" Molly panted. Sexy really didn't come easy to her, but Jim rewarded her with a feral, gleaming grin; there was warmth to it but it was laced with menace. Wasn't that always the way with him?

In an instant he swooped down on to her and claimed her lips with rough, open mouthed kisses. Molly could scarcely keep up; it was like he was drinking the air out of her lungs, she had never known such consuming haste. When he was "Jim from IT" he had taken his time kissing her, been gentle and held her as though she were a china doll. Of course, she knew now that that was an act; for once, that realisation was not bittersweet because this Jim, _her Jim_, was kissing her like she was his life force, like he couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.

As if of their own volition, Molly found her hands working their way down the buttons of his shirt at an alarming pace, her pianist fingers deftly undoing each one. When she had done them all, Jim threw off the garment with contempt.

Jim's kisses were slowly turning into bites as he made a path down her throat; she squeaked and smarted with every nip but she would have screamed in protest had he dared to stop. Meanwhile, he was making short work of her blouse and bra, wiping them away, impatient.

She ached when he put space between their bodies so that he could undo her jeans and free himself of his now plaster-covered suit trousers. The air seemed cool without him above her, and her nerve endings screamed out to be assaulted again. She took the opportunity to look up at him. She had never seen him as anything other than her jailkeeper before, but like this; my God, he was beautiful.

His stomach was flat, pale skin stretched over taut, understated muscle. He wasn't hairy but for a few fine tufts on his chest, and her eyes lingered hazily on the trail of hair that traced down from under his navel to below his designer boxer briefs. He approached her again to return to his previous activities, and she boldly swiped her hand over and grasped him firmly, to which she was rewarded with the most salacious groan. In retaliation, Jim lunged himself at her breast, sucking it hard into his mouth, causing Molly's hazelnut eyes to loll back into her head and incomprehensible sounds to escape her throat.

Her legs now free of her jeans and knickers, her milk white legs instinctively encircled him and drew him closer to her, but it still didn't feel close enough.

He positioned himself directly above her, his expression gravely serious. Holding his weight off of her slightly, he rested his forehead on hers; everything was paused. Molly attempted to encourage him on, squeezing him lightly between her thighs, but Jim would not be rushed.

Speaking almost into her mouth, lips to lips, he cautioned her: "If you do this with me..." He raised his fingers to ghost her lips; her eyelashes fluttered at the delicate gesture. "...you won't be doing it with anyone else. Ever again. I won't share you."

Eagerly, Molly complied, nodding her head; she would have agreed to anything just to have him move those few centimetres closer and give her starving body what it craved. Jim's fingers silenced her still, not quite convinced of her compliance.

"Do you understand me; if I hear you so much as _thinking_ about him again I will put that gun in your mouth myself, love, and that's a promise." Taken aback by Jim's particular brand of pillow talk, Molly mulled over Jim's warning. She knew better than to doubt him. The sting of Sherlock giving up on her rumbled; but it was quenched by the patter of Jim's breath steadily stroking her cheek.

Molly hadn't finished saying the words "I understand" before he was in her in one sharp, breathtaking thrust. So swift was Jim's reaction, that it literally rung the last few syllables out of her. She threw her head back at the sensation; it was fair to say that it had been a while and it was clear from the way Jim was moving that sex was another one of his little passions.

Her mind cleared for the first time in months, overcome by the intensity of sensation. Normally she would be nervous and self conscious, but all of that seemed to patter away into insignificance now; she was answering to nothing but the urges that were powering through her. Every muscle tightened within her and her toes curled as Jim picked up pace and pulled her legs to rest on his shoulders.

Jim's body jerked at the sudden contraction of muscles. "Jesus, Moll!" He looked down on her and kissed her calf that was currently right by his head. Sweat was now creating a delicious sheen over his chest. She knew what he was doing-slowing it down, holding on, making it last.

She must have looked obscene laying there, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her chest heaving with slow, shallow breaths. Jim moved one of his hands from securing her legs and employed it to her stomach, tracing idle, sweat-lubricated patterns on her burning, hot skin. The way he looked down at her through heavily-lidded eyes made Molly feel like a fallen woman, the type you read about in trashy novels. To everyone else, she was plain old Molly-clinical and sexless, but he made her feel like the most sensual creature that ever walked the earth, and she loved it.

"How could you even _contemplate_ leaving me?" His words were light, almost smug. "How could you leave me when I can make you feel like this?" But, as it was so many times with Jim, the sentiment did not match the look in his eyes.

It was all she could so to find her voice; her body was aching now, movements were almost painful, and she just wanted release. Grabbing handfuls of expensive cotton sheets, she bit out her reply: "Honestly...I don't know..."

The hand on her stomach sneaked its trail down, further and further until it ghosted lightly over her clit. "Nobody is going to make you feel like this but me Molly; no one knows you like I do." He was teetering on the brink-she could tell with his lazy, slurring words, and yet still he managed to hold all the cards. Thrusting into her with slower, harder, but more purposeful intent Jim continued his lecture. "...do you not see? We're dark and light, you and me Mols, night and day."

Looking back, Molly really should have left it there, but spurred on by her sudden, unexpected moment of clarity and the stark contrast of going from wanting to die to suddenly feeling like she might live forever all in the space of an hour, she digressed, despite Jim resuming his almost violent pace. "Yes...," she panted, "...it was never like that with me and Sher..." She stopped herself, instantly knowing what she had done.

Jim looked like he would kill her, stop her right there and put a bullet between her eyes. Molly could have coped with the dying bit, but not with Jim stopping what he was doing to her, not now! The action of him lunging forward at her whilst still inside her took her breath; what was left of it he rang out with one elegant but strong hand around her throat: "Do I really have to kill you to make you mine?"

She ground her teeth until she thought they might crumble and shook her head resolutely, no. By way of punishment, Jim began pounding into her at a new angle which caused her to sink her teeth into his shoulder.

Her whole body was coiled, pushed to breaking point. She clawed at his back, just as determined to mark him as hers. Jim was still angry, biting sharp and shark-like into her earlobe before purring in words of both love and hate: "I'd kill him for you. Kill him in front of you, if you want? I'd even let you pull the trigger."

"Liar. You'd never pass that opportunity up," she teased, sealing her sentiment with a quick peck on his lips.

"I would...," Jim protested breathlessly. "...It'd be worth it, just for him to know that you were mine. All mine."

"You don't need to do that...," Molly sobbed, her voice becoming crackling and broken. "I'm yours; I always have been." Weaving her fingers through his tousled hair, she forced him to meet her eyes, hoping that he would see the sincerity in them and forgive her previous indiscretion. "Jimmy, I'm yours." With that last statement, she had had enough of waiting and flexed all of her internal muscles. Jim hid his face in her shoulder and moaned something that sounded a bit like "That's hardly fair, Molly..." Her actions triggered him to lose it completely and give way to sheer animalism. Molly didn't so much as attempt to keep up with him; it would have been impossible. Instead, she just clung onto him tightly as she came undone around him. Finally, she was flung over the edge of sensibility and hurtled into splintering bliss. Nothing else mattered at that moment; she couldn't tell where she ended and Jim began.

So much was her awe that she had barely noticed that the exact same thing was happening to Jim. The deep, guttural moans of completion rang in her ears; it was both the most sexual, gratuitous and beautiful thing she had ever heard.

She lay there afterwards, Jim still battling to regain his breath atop of her. To her surprise, Jim didn't say anything; he was never normally at a loss for words, but he just kissed her eyelids, the tenderness jolting in comparison with the rough way he had ripped her climax out of her.

It seemed a shame to break the spell by speaking; words were cheap and brittle in light of the experience they had both shared. So, she remained silent, enjoying the comforting weight of his body on top of hers, occasionally kissing the top of his head as he rested on her collarbone. They were a sweaty, sticky mess; she felt like a shining, gleaming penny that had been trampled in mud.

It felt exquisite. She felt _alive._


	5. Chapter 5

Told you I'd be back! Sorry it took a lot longer than expected. So here's chapter 5, hope you like it, it's a bit saucy but not all future chapters will be like that, I'm working on chapter 6 now and that's got a different feel to it.

I'd love to hear any feedback or input you guys might have. This chapter is un-beta'd because my lovely friend now has a really demanding job in radio…so, I'm flying solo on this one, my apologies if there are any mistakes, I've checked it through several times but no one's perfect.

**Chapter 5**

"Well he said he'd show you his bed  
>and the delights of his chemical smile<br>so in your broken home he broke all of your bones  
>now you're taking it time after time<br>oh it turns you on, on, on, now he has gone  
>oh what turns you on, on, on, now yor animal's gone?"<p>

-Animal Nitrate - Suede

Alone again, Molly caressed the cold porcelain of the bath tub as she sank down into the bubbles, she and this bathtub had shared some rather…intimate moments in their time. Allowing herself the luxury of reminiscing she rested her head for a while and let her shoulders soak. After all, what the hell else did she have to do today?

The morning after their first sexual encounter Jim had found her here, she had left him sleeping peacefully to soak her aching muscles in a bubble bath. Despite their recent intimacy she had still flinched when he sauntered into the bathroom, casually picking up his toothbrush without a word as though this they were just a regular couple cohabiting together.

Her eyes lingered on him, clad only in his boxers, his back still ravaged, partly from the explosion and partly from her own eagerness the night before.

"Trying to wash me off?" he queried, a mouthful of toothpaste muffling his voice. His words were light but never innocent.

"Wha…no…no of course not" Molly stammered, reaching her arms around her knees, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

Resting casually, his back to the sink he cocked a doubtful eyebrow, his toothbrush still furiously scrubbing at his teeth.

Realising Jim required her to be a little more convincing Molly shot him a thin smile, "It's just…I was a bit achy, you know?" her gaze lowered to her knees as she felt a blush creep over her alabaster skin. "It's the best work out I've had in a long time, I'm sore in places I didn't know it was possible to be sore..." she cringed at herself, why was she opening herself up for his ridicule? "…so I thought a soak might help."

Jim Moriarty was not immune to the odd swell of male pride, unceremoniously spitting the toothpaste suds into the bowl and rinsing his mouth he returned to her with a wry smirk, a look that was equal measures terrifying and sexy. Kneeling down by the bath her stroked her damp shoulder, "That so?" he coo'ed, resting his head on his forearm.

Unbeknown to herself Molly leaned in to his touch and nodded lazily, like a cat responding to a welcome caress. He had such a hypnotic effect on her. In her right mind she knew what he was doing, what he was capable of. He was after all a master of manipulation. Problem was Molly couldn't recall the last time she had been in her _right mind. _She had been with Jim so long that she had come to be somewhat accepting of his brand of, "normal". In the early days she had craved his company because it was the only company she was offered, starved of contact she relished any human interactions, even with him.

But now? Now she craved his company and his alone, more than a year away from her family and friends in complete isolation had rendered her memory of them somewhat grey and unreachable. Now all she knew was Jimmy, sweet, soft, cold and cruel Jimmy.

It was Jim's hand stroking across her collarbone that roused her from her revere. Delicate fingers, tracing her bone structure as though he was fascinated by it. Realising he was waiting for an answer she bit her lip.

"Not that I'm complaining of course." Even to her own ears Molly's voice sounded husky and wanton, it had never sounded like that before, no other man had ever drawn that sound from her.

Her daring words seemed to please Jim and he rewarded her by snaking his exploring fingers down her body, tracing soapsuds between her breasts and into the dip of her navel, further south to the juncture of her thighs.

"I should hope not…" there were those Irish tones again, the ones that sent heat coursing through her, "…I'd have to teach you a lesson if you complained, wouldn't I?" the dark abyss of his eyes never left hers as he slid his hands down between her legs and began stroking her in a tortuously slow rhythm.

Molly's eyelids flickered of their own accord and she gripped a hand on to the side of the bath to steel herself.

Watching on Jim was clearly amused, giving her a smug smile that was more than tinged with sadism, "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he said it like he was speaking of a sordid little secret, "All this time, moping about feeling sorry for yourself and look at you!" Still his hand worked on her, clouding her thoughts, "You can protest all you want m' girl, but you're here with me, wet as October down here…do you want me to stop? Go on ask me to stop!" In her blissful haze Molly could see the look he gave her; she'd seen that same look on her cats face as it tortured mice to death.

Her eyes widened at his threat,"Mmm…no" the words stumbled clumsily out of her mouth, all considerations of dignity had gone out of the window.

"Are you sure…" he teased,"…say the word and I'll stop? Do you want big bad Jim Moriarty to stop _abusing_ you?" Jim added emphasis on the word abuse; it did seem absurd under these circumstances.

With eyes as big as saucers Molly shook her head, "No, please, please don't stop." For long she had felt nothing and now her senses were in overdrive, she needed this.

Toying with her further his hand picked up pace, "What do you want? Tell me."

_Oh God was he going to make her say it? Get her to say all those filthy words to him like he did the night before?_

Stopping his hand but not removing it from her he pressed further, "If you don't tell me I don't know do I?" Jimmy couldn't sound innocent, even when he really tried.

"I…" Molly began her mouth opening and closing a few times, shuffling words around in her head, each one sounding more dirty than the last,"…I want you to touch me."

Rewarding her with a wry smile Jim nodded his head as though pleased with her effort, "Where?" he whispered, his lips almost brushing her ear as he spoke.

Placing her hand on top of his between her thighs she answered, "Here."

"You can do better than that Moll's, I know you can."

_He was going to make her say it! The sadistic bastard! _

"My…my…" Molly gritted her teeth trying to think of a non-clinical word for it,"…pussy."

Jim scoffed lightly, but not as cruelly as she thought he might, he gasped in mock surprise, "Where did a nice girl like you learn words like that?!"

His hand started moving again, much to Molly's relief, but Jim wasn't done with his torment, "And why pray tell, do you want me to touch your _pussy?_" Jim took great delight in throwing her choice of word back at her, it clanged terribly.

Molly panted in frustration, she didn't mean to but she did, "Because!"

Never one to tolerate insolence Jim bit at her earlobe, it was just a nip but Molly's nerves were so frayed that it drew a moan from her, "Because what? If I keep moving my hand what will happen…hmm?"

He was going to get his way, he always did, he was Jim Moriarty for God's sake!

"Because I want to…come."

"Oh I see!" he exclaimed gleefully as though he had been let in on a big secret. _Sarcastic bastard!_

In an instant he removed his hand, raising it to cup her jaw instead.

Completely frustrated and dismayed Molly dared to question him, "What? Why…Ji…"

He silenced her with a thumb to her lips, the very same thumb that moments before had her spitting out dirty words into the steamy air.

"Maybe if you're a good girl today and you _don't_ touch yourself while I'm at work, I'll let you do just that." He grinned, showing her pearly white teeth that had never seemed more shark like.

As soon as he removed his thumb from her lips she opened her mouth to protest, giving her an annoyed huff he replaced the thumb, "And I _will_ know love, I can always see you. You can't hide from me."

That brought her back to Earth and reminded her of the graveness of her situation; he never let her forget it for too long. Her shoulders slumped and he sensed her compliance.

"Do you think you can do that for me? No touching and you'll get your reward later?"

Responding as best she could with her lips pinned together she signalled her agreement with a sound that was somewhere between frustration and resignation.

Smoothing her damp hair Jim grinned victoriously before planting what felt like a decisively genuine kiss on her lips, "Good, I'll look forward to it!" with a wink he stood and went off to dress, leaving her sat in the now tepid water, aghast at what just happened.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi Guys, thank you all so much for the kind reviews, I understand I left it a LONG time to update this fic, and I can understand if people have lost interest, I really appreciate you guys who are still reading and letting me have your feedback.

This chapter is pretty dark, it involves violence and psychological abuse so if that's going to be a trigger for you don't read, I don't want to upset anybody.

Thought I'd try and get this posted before the new Sherlock episode tonight, I loved,"The Empty Hearse" but man do I miss Moriarty!

**Chapter 6**

"Like Bonny and Clyde we're free

don't say there's nothing between us."

- Refugees by The Tears

Molly dressed quickly after bathing, ever since Jim's revelation that he could ,"Always see her" she had convinced herself that he had hidden cameras about the place and could probably watch her every move from the comfort of his iPhone. Pulling her black camisole over her head her hand brushed against her rib, the one that jutted out under her skin in a most non-uniform manner. It served as a permanent reminder that she would not come out of this arrangement unscathed or indeed unchanged, Jim really had left his mark on her in all ways.

That particular rib was not in fact broken by Jim's hand, not directly anyway. The thing about living with a Consulting Criminal is that it does rather expose you to well...criminals. One evening when she heard the security panel buzz on the door she had merely assumed it was Jim coming home after a hard day of terrorizing the British public or whatever it was he was up to these days. Knowing the routine by now she padded into the kitchen to pour him a glass of Pinot Noir. As the wine hit the glass something blunt and heavy struck her on the back of her head, she felt the warm trickle of blood down her neck before the lights went out.

She awoke to find she was trussed up between beams in a warehouse. Quickly assessing her situation Molly surmised that this was too crude to be Jim's work, he was far more sophisticated, it had to be someone else. That's when the fear really gripped her, better the psychopath you know. It occurred to her through the agonising cloud of her headache that this was the day she never thought she'd see; the day she longed to be tucked up safe and sound as Jim's prisoner again, back in that remote cottage with not another soul for miles.

Molly's musing was interrupted by a bucket of ice cold water being dumped over her head, she screeched like a drowning cat at the shock of it.

"Now, do I have your attention." Molly's jaw was gripped tightly by a rather repulsive smelling middle aged man, he was shabbily dressed and overweight, even in her panic Molly noted that he was the absolute opposite of Jimmy.

"Mmm...why? What am I here for?" Molly's voice was made to sound even more pathetic by his constricting grip on her.

"You're here because you're the most valuable possession James Moriarty owns luv, bastard owes me a lot of money, so you can start by telling me what you know, if you comply then I might not have to break his favourite toy." he gestured down to a steel bar clasped in his right hand.

Molly's blood ran cold, how is it that such a bad situation could get so monumentally worse? One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to start giving this man information about Jimmy, of course he thought he was intimidating wielding his steel bar, but there again he'd not spent the last year cohabiting with a man who tinkered with explosives at the kitchen table on a Sunday morning.

"I...I don't know anything..." the words sounded pathetic, even to Molly's ears. She could almost hear Jim's voice in her head,_"Come on Moll's, you can come up with something better than that!"_

Without warning the foul smelling man swatted the bar at her ribs, knocking the air clean out of her body, she wanted to keel over in pain but the position she was trussed in forbade it.

"Don't give me that shit girl, we found you in his bloody hide away, you're not telling me you've not seen documents laying around, caught a glimpse of bank accounts? You're shagging him for God's sake, you're his fucking Moll!"

Molly scoffed at his last remark, _his Moll._ Yes, yes it would appear she was, but what a pun!

Molly's amusement earned her another vicious strike with the steel bar, this time to her other side but with much the same effect. And so it went on, for what seemed like hours, this undesirable stranger asking her all kinds of questions, the most of which she genuinely didn't know the answers to, and Molly remaining loyal to her jail keeper, not uttering a word in answer.

By the time morning light was beginning to stream through the corrugated iron roof Molly could have sworn she didn't have any intact ribs left to break, breathing was becoming laboured and her situation seemed more and more hopeless.

Then there were footsteps descending the gantry behind her, and the familiar click of the safety catch being let off a gun. Molly's shoulders eased notably in their constraints as the first syllables of ,"That was a dirty trick Keats!"echoed about the warehouse. Molly had never been so genuinely happy to hear that voice, relief flooded her veins and she all but lost consciousness.

Jim strode up to her, taking her jaw in his hands much the same way as the stranger had but with a note more tenderness,"You look a fright Moll's, what are we going to do with you?!" He seemed strangely jovial, and despite his patronising tone, if Molly's arms had been free she would have wrapped them around him at that moment.

Turning his attention back to the man whom had dared to break into his fortress and steal his favourite play thing Jim sauntered a few steps away, leaving Molly still trussed between the beams.

"Do you know, I had this big impressive speech planned, it was brilliant..." he turned briefly to shoot a smug glance at Molly, arms still raised above her head,"...you would have loved it dear..." Jim winked at her, putting emphasis on the _loved._

"...but now I'm here, well I think it's been a long night for all of us, I really can't be bothered. Besides I'm hungry..." he looked back at Molly once more,"...we should get breakfast."

The older man's brow creased in confusion,"What do you mean, this wasn't pa..." before he could finish his sentence Jim had shot him clean in the head. For all of the long months she had shared with Jim Moriarty, seeing him shoot someone in cold blood like that, for no other reason than he wanted breakfast served very well to remind her of who she was dealing with.

After releasing Molly from her ties and warning her not to get blood on his suit he wrapped his coat around her shoulders and lead her to a car. Huddled in the passenger seat she pulled the coat tighter around her, indulging in the sickening comfort of his scent.

Noticing that she was trembling, probably in shock, Jim reached out a hand and rested it atop of hers,"It's ok luv, you passed the test, you cleaver girl. I'm really pleased with you, you held your own in there. I must be rubbing off on you pet."

Weary and broken Molly closed her eyes as the pieces of the puzzle began to slide into place for her. No one got into Jim's place, Molly had spent weeks trying to decipher the key codes to the doors, using all the little deducing methods she had picked up off of Sherlock over the years, to no avail. No, no one got in _or out _without Jim.

"You? You did this to me? You set this up?" she asked in a small voice, she was furious but knew better than to goad Jim when his blood was up.

Jim started the ignition and began to drive,"I had to test you, had to make sure you were mine didn't I? Make sure you weren't going to tell all my secrets the moment the going got tough. Come on...it was pretty clever, you have to admit?" he gave her a side ways glance waiting for her approval.

"He broke my ribs." Molly bit down hard on to her lower lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her tears.

With a roll of his eyes Jim huffed,"Yes, and I shot him for you. Fair wouldn't you say?"

Molly merely blinked back at him to exhausted to argue with a man that she would never be able to reason with.

After a few blissful minutes of silence Jim looked over to her, concern colouring his features, although Molly couldn't tell how genuine it was,"Oh come on, don't be cross..." he moaned with the innocence of a little child.

"...we both know where we stand now, you know I'll kill anyone who dares touch you and I know I can trust you. Things will be better now."

Realising that the last bit of fight she had had just been beaten out of her with a steel bar, Molly nodded in fake agreement.

When they had arrived _home _Jim had been uncharacteristically kind to her, emotions were rarely genuine with Jim but there was a warped gratitude about the way he regarded her, she had not uttered a single word to betray him, even at the cost of getting beaten to a pulp, maybe Jim had never known loyalty like that? Was it loyalty or fear? Either way, that didn't seem to matter much to Jim.

"Let's have a look at you then?" Jim took her face gently in his hands and inspected her thoroughly,"Good, I told him not to touch your face...still my pretty little Moll's."

Suddenly in need of some kind of human affection Molly launched herself into his arms and to her surprise he caught her, his arms went around her, putting pressure on fractured ribs that went ignored as he whispered words of comfort into her hair.

A little later when he had stepped in to the shower behind her, held her and lathered soap down her back, carefully inspecting the purple bruises that were forming down her sides, ghosting fingers over each one, she marvelled that he was capable of such gentleness. Living with Jim Moriarty was like living with a dozen different people, most of them confusing and terrifying, but this one? This one she liked, the Jim that was all breath taking smiles and delicate touches, she would end up loving this one if she wasn't careful.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys! Thank you to all of you who have favourited, read and reviewed, as ever I really am so grateful.

A special thanks to **JJBluebell,** I owe an awful lot of this chapter to her as she was the one who shared her thoughts on Jim's past with me, thank you for being so generous and I really hope I have done your ideas justice.

Also **Chelliebear4**, thank you for always following and supporting the story and also flinging ideas around with me, you're awesome.

As with the last chapter, abuse and some fairly dubious manipulation features heavily in this chapter, if that bothers you then this really isn't going to be a good read for you.

Hope you like it!

**Chapter 7**

"I'm untouchable, yes I am  
>But if you wanna touch me, you can<br>I'm a bastard, you know that I am  
>But that's just what you like in a man"<p>

-Unlovable by Babybird

When was that she had begun to love her cage? Molly thought back and tried to pinpoint that exact moment. Maybe it was after their rather disastrous first _and last_ date.

"Being as you've proven yourself to be such a_ faithful _pet, and being as I have a brand new pair of Jeff Wests that I, quite frankly, look amazing in, we're going to the theatre." Jim had announced one afternoon, throwing his keys on the counter top and whirling through the kitchen like some kind of natural disaster. "Put this on…" he ordered, throwing a D&G bag at her feet,"…it was _very_ expensive and looked scandalous on the mannequin. Don't bother trying to wear underwear with it."

His parting shot before going off to shower was, "Wear your hair down, look gorgeous, you know Daddy likes to show off!"

Butterflies filled her stomach; surprisingly it wasn't the thought of being James Moriarty's accessory for the evening that was bothering her but the thought of going _outside_. She should have been giddy at the prospect, excited and thrilled, but she wasn't. Instead she cowered at the thought of being let out, away from the securityof the four walls that she had been kept in for so long.

That evening, it was only the self-satisfied realisation that he had so thoroughly and effectively clipped her wings that stopped Jim from snapping at Molly's ungrateful display of insecurity.

The poor creature jumped out of her skin anytime someone brushed past her or spoke a little too loudly. Her fraught eyes darted to the door anytime a stranger entered the bar, after a while this began to grate on Jim, "Looking for someone Moll?" he enquired, both of them knowing which _someone _he was referring too. Even now, Sherlock was the one adversary that offered Jim any real competition.

Her wondering eyes returned to Jim, with not nearly as much fear in them as he had hoped, "No, I just…I think…can we go _home_? Please?" Her words hung in the air for a moment; _was that what that place was now? Home?_

"You're a crap date Molly Hooper." was all the response she got before he held out his arm for her to take and lead her out of the foyer to the car.

It took Molly a good fifteen minutes to peel herself out of the ridiculous dress that Jim had requested that she pour herself into. Although she had to admit, she had looked quite pretty in it, maybe even sexy. She had never before thought of herself in those terms, taking one last look at herself in the mirror she noted the slender curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her hips and bit down on a satisfied smile.

Returning to the living room she found Jim asleep on the sofa, actually asleep. Napping in front of News Night like a normal person, it seemed absurd.

She stared intently at his sleeping form, he was just a man like this. Not an indestructible monster, just flesh and blood like everyone else, just as fragile, just as mortal. It occurred to her that she ought to seize this rare opportunity, put a pillow over his face, stab him, take his gun out of his jacket pocket and end it all. But she didn't. She couldn't.

The cottage was always cold before the fire really got going; nothing seemed to heat the old 200 year old structure adequately. She picked up a mink throw from the back of the sofa and rested it over him.

In a flash his startling brown eyes flickered open, regarding her with suspicion, "What are you up to?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

Somewhat insulted Molly pulled her hands back from the blanket as though it had burnt her, "I'm covering you up; it's bloody cold in here."

Jim spent his life at least ten steps ahead of everyone else and yet he seemed genuinely taken aback by her kind gesture, "Oh…I see…" There was still a sleepiness to his voice, perhaps if he had been more alert he would have come up with a clever way to discount his overreaction and make her look stupid but instead he just watched her. Quietly she placed herself on the floor resting her back against the sofa, facing away from him, knees pulled up to her chest like a little girl watching cartoons on a Saturday morning.

She may not have been aware of Jim's appraising eyes taking her in, recalling how she used to flinch at his very presence, scream whenever he touched her, attempt suicide just to get away from him. Reaching out his hand he stroked a finger over the shell of her ear and she instinctively leaned into his touch, momentarily trapping his hand between her head and her shoulder.

"I'm bored Moll's…entertain me!" he whined quietly in drowsy tones.

Turning around to face him with a vaguely amused smile Molly rested her arms on the edge of the sofa, "Ok…" for once she seemed game, maybe it was the wine they had been drinking, Molly had been so nervous while they were out that she practically slung the whole bottle down her neck.

"…tell me about your first…" she paused considering how much Jim would enjoy this, he'd be in his element,"…murder."

To Molly's great disappointment Jim didn't seem half as pleased at her enquiry as she had expected, he merely exhaled sharply and smoothed the blanket over his legs, "It was my father."

Trying her best not to sound alarmed Molly nodded, "I see."

"No, no you don't _see_. You think I'm bad? At least I'm clever, at least there's a bit of finesse to what I do! He was…he was just an angry little parasite." Jim spat the words out like they were poison, as though the memory of his father was enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth. "You've seen the scars on my back, the older ones?"

Truth was Molly had seen the lighter marks here and there on his back, but there again she'd always assumed that scars were an occupational hazard in Jim's line of work.

"From a belt…mostly…or whatever was at hand at the time. Terribly shoddy when you think about it, no attention to detail. Bloody amateur!" Jim denounced. "It was a terribly messy business killing him. People do the most _undignified_ things when faced with imminent death. That's why I don't like getting my hands dirty these days. I'm the brains, you might say, not so much the brawn."

Treading carefully, very carefully indeed Molly dared to ask another question, "What about your Mum? What about her? What was she like?"

Jim's mouth twisted, that bad taste clearly back again, "She was…she was pathetic, weak, stupid…" he paused a look of utter contempt on his face as he recalled his mother,"…kind, warm, gentle…a lot like you really."

Molly knew she was in dangerous territory now, were she a little less brave, or perhaps a little less stupid she would have retreated there and then, "What happened to her?"

Jim refused to look at her as he answered, adopting a very matter of fact tone, "One day, when I was eleven my father caved her skull in with an ashtray. That's what happened to her." He topped off his revelation with a whimsical shrug.

Molly had no words. She merely stared back, processing the information, her mouth agape and useless.

"It was her own fault, she always went back to him, stupid bitch! Thought that she could fix him!" Jim laughed; it was a cruel, hollow, bitter sound.

Lowering his gaze his eyes settled on Molly's face, her glassy eyes rimmed with tears, in an instant he had both of her wrists firmly in his grip, shaking her from her pity, "Don't you fucking dare! One tear falls and I'll gouge your eyes out, I swear it." Jim elongated the word gouge in the most sickeningly drawling way.

Still held tight in Jim's grasp Molly daren't even blink, knowing his threats to be sincere.

"YOU CAN'T FIX ME! AND I WOULD _FLAY_ THE SKIN OFF YOU IF YOU EVER EVEN TRIED!"

Maybe it was the wine again but Molly scoffed, she actually scoffed. It was possibly the most reckless thing she'd ever done in her life. Jim's grip tightened to the point that there would be new bruises to add to her already extensive collection in the morning.

"Fix you? Fix you…are you kidding? Jim, you're so broken I wouldn't know where to start!"

Jim pulled her closer to him, buying himself some time to come up with a suitably chilling response, her observation of him hitting slightly too close to home. Molly Hooper was never meant to _see _him like this.

Once again breaking his concentration Molly spoke up again, her voice so sincere it stung, "And still I would take you_, as broken as you are_, over anyone else."

It didn't pass Molly by that he was in fact taking her pulse as she spoke, making sure that it didn't quicken and expose her dishonestly. But she remained unperturbed, her pulse wouldn't tell on her, she didn't know where those words had come from but they were the truth.

The slow smirk that emerged over Jim's features was victorious and smug, but at least it was honest for once, "I'd say you were pretty broken yourself pet."


	8. Chapter 8

Hey Guys!

Sorry this chapter has taken so long! I'm still not 100% happy with it but I needed to get it posted so I can get on with the rest of the story! This is not the end, not by a long shot so please don't be too pissed off at me.

Thank you so much for all of your support! And I hope you all enjoyed the new Sherlock episodes,"His last vow" pretty much floored me! Did we miss you? Like you wouldn't believe?! Haha!

Ok so here's chapter 8...hope you like it.

**Chapter 8**

"Say goodbye on a night like this

If it's the last thing you ever do

You never looked as lost as this

Sometimes it doesn't even look like you

It goes dark

It goes darker still

Please stay

And I watch you like you're made of stone as you walk away"

**-A Night Like This -The Cure**

Pricilla Presley once said that being married to Elvis was like having her own personal Jesus, there was always something rather _divine_ about him. Before Jim had invaded her life Molly would have denounced such a statement as ridiculous, the romantic ramblings of a star struck teenager unable to believe her luck. But now she kind of understood it, Molly knew what it was to revolve around someone that you couldn't quite accept as being human, Jim was always that little bit more_._

So much so that both Molly and Jim alike never really considered that he might be stopped or even slowed down by the normal ailments of us mere mortals. So, you can imagine the mutual surprise when one day Jim returned home early and looking decisively green around the gills.

"Good God you look awful!" The shock of seeing Jim looking so pasty and weak caused Molly to forget her manners.

Jim plonked himself down on the sofa and opened his laptop, trying to disguise a shiver that ran though him, "You'll pay for that." he grimaced, but when he didn't expand on when or how he would inflict his punishment Molly knew something was really wrong.

She reached out a hand to take his temperature, knowing that it would be swatted away instantly, "You're ill Jim…really ill."

Refusing to take his eyes off of the screen in front of him, Jim huddled into himself as though he was cold, "No I'm not! _Ill_ is for normal people, I don't do _ill_. Bugger off, Daddy's busy!" he waved her away with a dismissive hand.

Molly had long since given up arguing with Jim, it was too exhausting. He could be as wrong as wrong can be, but he could do it longer than you could even care about being right. Molly shuffled into the kitchen and back to her baking, James didn't do, "_Domestic"_ but she sure as hell did. It kept her sane, just about.

A few hours later she dared to enter the living room once more, only to find the lap top closed on the coffee table. Jim appeared to be asleep, huddled under the blanket that usually rested on the back of the sofa; he was as pale as that night he'd returned home after the explosion, a few pints of blood lighter than when he had gone out.

Molly sat beside his sleeping form and rested her hand on his forehead, he was burning up. Her hand went to his neck only to find that as she suspected, his glands were up too. A pang of alarm shot through her as his eyes began to flicker open. He frowned up at her and was rewarded with a gentle smile in return, "How's not being ill going for you Mr Moriarty?" Normally she wouldn't dare tease but his incapacitated state afforded her some false sense of security.

To her relief Jim seemed amused by her cheekiness, smiling weakly, "Delightful. Most fun I've had in ages." He turned his face back into the cushions, his usually feline manner gone and replaced with stiff creaking motions.

"I'll get you a Lemsip or something." Molly sighed, swiping a sweaty strand of hair back from his forehead. Jim grumbled, half into the pillows, "No...they're horrible, I don't need anything."

The doctor in Molly just couldn't take a day off, "Well, you need to eat something then, you've not had anything since you got in."

To this suggestion Jim placed another cushion over his head in order to hide from her, Molly stifled a smile, she was getting some kind of perverted satisfaction out of seeing Jim succumb to something as normal and mundane as the flu.

"No! For Gods sake just leave me alone woman! Why do I even keep you here in the first place? You're so irritating and boring!" he scolded, peering out from his cushions like a tantruming child, hoping his words would hurt her.

With a roll of her eyes Molly stood, "Suit yourself! I don't know why you keep me here either, but you do." She had just about made it to the door way when a glass that had been resting on the coffee table collided with the wall, shattering into tiny pieces by her head. Clearly it was only supposed to startle her. Jim didn't miss, if it was meant to hit her, it would have. With a casual glance backwards, Molly shook her head to convey how unamused she was with Jim's little outburst.

_It was going to be a long few days. _

Jim slept on the sofa fully clothed that night. At midnight when Molly had stroked his cheek and asked if he was coming to bed, he had merely rolled over so that he wasn't facing her and promptly resumed with his snoring.

On day two of Jim's _sulking, coughing and shivering_ campaign Molly stood at the foot of the sofa, bacon sandwich in hand, wondering which tact to take today. The softly-softly approach that she had adopted yesterday had failed quite miserably.

Taking a deep breath and assuming what she hoped was an assertive stance Molly attempted to wake him, "Jim…" nothing,"…Jimmy, wake up." She tried, a little louder, "Jim, come on – I haven't got all day, well actually I have but…"she huffed frustrated,"…JAMES!"

That did it. With a jolt Jim's normally fierce brown eyes peered open before cowering shut again as he realised that he actually felt worse than he did yesterday, "GO AWAY!"

"But I have bacon!" Molly tried to sound playful in the face of his stubbornness.

"Don't care." Jim maintained; he was definitely the worst patient she had ever had, and she'd had some stinkers.

Feeling her stern resolve crumple at the sight of him, huddled up shivering and so boyish, Molly placed the sandwich on the coffee table and perched herself beside him. Knowing her hands to be icy cold due to the Arctic temperatures of the cottage in early morning she laid her hand on his forehead, this time it wasn't batted away but accepted gracefully,"Mmm…s'nice." Jim mumbled his approval.

Chuckling softly at how pliant he had become all of a sudden, Molly kept her voice hardly more than a whisper, "Thought you wanted me to go away?"

"I do, just leave your hand. I'd hack it off for you but I'm ill." Jim rested his own hand over hers so to ensure she couldn't move it.

"So you admit your ill now?" Molly seized on his admission without even bothering to acknowledge his idol threat.

Opening one eye but still pressing Molly's hand to his brow Jim's mouth threatened to twitch into a smile, "You don't have to look so bloody pleased about it Molly, thought you were a doctor? Where's your bedside manner?"

Distracted from Jim's rambling Molly pulled down the collar of his shirt, her eyes widened slightly as her suspicions were confirmed, his neck was covered in a blotchy rash. Instantly sensing her apprehension Jim's eyebrows knitted, "What? What is it? Do I have the plague or something?"

Molly pulled her eyes away from the angry looking irritated skin of his neck to meet his gaze ,"I think…I can't be sure but…"

"Spit it out!" Jim's grip on her hand grew tighter with his impatience.

"I think its measles…" Molly unbuttoned his shirt a little to get a better look, not bothering to ask permission as she once would have,"… did your parents opt out of getting you immunised or something?" Jim slapped away her hand in a strop and pulled his shirt back over his chest, the mention of his parents clearly agitating him.

"They_` opted out`_ of being parents all together remember! Dear old Dad probably slipped my Mum a few backhands so she couldn't leave the house! We didn't all have idyllic doting parents, dearest!"

Molly did her best not to look sympathetic, knowing it would only serve to fan the flames, "Well, you need antibiotics and quick. You can't fight this off on your own."

Jim struggled into a sitting position, pushing her away when she tried to help him. He hated this, Jim's speciality was fighting, nothing ever got the better of him.

"Could you get one of your…_people _to get their hands on some and bring them around? I can tell them the type you need…or I could get them? I could write a prescription." Molly's voice was careful, even in the sorry state he was in she didn't wish to trigger his temper.

"I broke into the Tower of London and tried on the crown jewels you idiot girl; of course I can get antibiotics!"

Molly sat back, retracting the hand that had been resting on Jim's chest back to the safety of her lap, _W__hy did he always have to be so unkind? _,"Oh good, because otherwise you'd be buggered."

Molly regretted goading him instantly, "You think you're so clever don't you, little mousey Molly Hooper!" Jim's normally handsome face contorted into a snarl, "_Oh isn't Molly a dear, getting me medicine when I am sick."_ Jim taunted in sickly tones that managed to turn her stomach. "Do you really think I'd let you get away that easily? I'm ill, not stupid! I'll put a bullet in you before I let you walk out of here? God, you're just itching to get back to your dear old Sherlock aren't you? It's pathetic!"

Molly squirmed uneasy where she sat, "If I had wanted to I could have made a run for it when we went to the theatre, but I didn't! Why would I run away now?" She was asking herself the question as much as she was asking Jim.

Jim's laugh came out as a cackle, "Like shit you could! I had snipers all over that place; you'd have been dead before you got to the doors!"

Despite her efforts a single tear betrayed her and made its way down her cheek, his revelation smacking her straight in the face, nothing she did, no grand displays of loyalty would ever be enough for him. "I even asked you to take me home." she observed feeling every bit the fool.

Reaching out a clammy hand Jim swiped away the tear, rubbing the moisture between his thumb and forefinger, "That's because you know what's good for you."

Still smarting she fixed her watery eyes to his, "Well, if you know what's good for you you'll have one of your Lakey's bring around some doxycycline before you get any worse, it'd be a bit of an anti-climax for your untimely death to be brought about by a case of the measles."

Jim didn't answer, he just sat back, eyes cast down into his lap, "Yeah, bit tricky that. No one knows where we are…well Keats did but as you know I had to _dispatch_ him for you so…"

Molly shook her head and rested her head in her hands, "Just tell them where we are!"

"Can't do that" Jim answered flatly like a child refusing to eat his greens.

"Why?" Molly asked, Jim's stubbornness twanging on her last nerve.

"Because" Jim retorted in a bunged up voice.

Placing her head in her hands and pulling her hair out of her face with more vigour than was needed Molly decided to give it one last shot,"Let me go and get them for you, I'll meet someone half way…" her whining was cut short.

"NO!" Jim fisted a handful of his own hair in a desperate fashion, it never failed to startle her how he could go from docile to manic in an instant, "JUST SHUT UP! FOR GODSAKE I SWEAR I WILL _SKIIIIN_ YOU IF YOU UTTER ANOTHER WORD, I'M THINKING!"

Molly blinked back at him with pleading eyes, her lips pressed shut in a thin line just in case they dared to spring open and drop her in it. Slapping her hands to her thighs she stood, she felt the heat of Jim's eyes boring into her as she walked away.

As predicted, Jim's condition got steadily worse. For the first few hours or so she had remained strong and ignored him, her anger and annoyance spurring her on but after nearly another full day of him not moving or eating she cracked.

Holding a damp cloth to his temple she resumed her war of attrition, "Jimmy, please. This is getting serious now…"

"Really? Bloody hell I've been having a ball as well!" he rasped. _The flesh is weak but the will is strong_ Molly mused.

"Do you know what measles can do to you if it's left untreated? If you live through it, that is?" she really wasn't above using scare tactics at this point.

"You're just scared of being left here with my dead body." Jim croaked, avoiding her question and hoping to throw her off her train of thought.

"Blindness, deafness…"Molly launched wholeheartedly in to her list only to be cut off.

"Deafness you say? I look forward to that; it'd be a nice break!" Jim began to laugh but it descended into coughing, leaving Molly an opening to rattle on with her list.

"…permanent muscle weakness…" she paused, he really wasn't listening,"…impotence." She looked down at him with raised eyebrows.

Narrowing his now red eyes Jim pursed his lips, "Pass me my phone." Molly's expression brightened instantly, unable to believe her victory. She sprang up to retrieve Jim's mobile and chose to ignore his threat to hurt her if he found out that she was lying to him.

True to her word Molly took his car keys and returned to Jim with the antibiotics, just as she knew she would. The following morning she persuaded him to move from the sofa to the bedroom and change from his now rather disgusting smelling dress shirt into a pair of Pierre Cardin pyjama bottoms.

For days they occupied the bedroom as Jim slowly recovered. Molly stayed with him, trying to keep his restless mind entertained as best as she could, even by just being someone to argue with when he got grumpy. It was the longest stretch of time they had ever spent together and the most they had ever talked.

Neither one would acknowledge it out loud but the whole situation _reeked _of normal.

Molly flicked through the television channels, "News Night? Crime Watch? News at Ten?"

"Boring!" Jim bellowed, his head rested on her collar bone, his forefinger tracing out random letters on her flat stomach.

Speaking into his hair Molly giggled, "You only watch them to see if they mention you!"

"What would be the point otherwise? That's why you watch them too!" Jim admitted in a lazy drawl, scrolling out a big letter, "M".

Stroking her hand down his back Molly considered for a split second that he was indeed correct in his observation," It's the only way I can find out what you've been up to."

Looking up to face her Jim shot her a smile that would have knocked her off her feet had she been on them in the first place, "You never know what I'm up to, no one does."

Molly blew a strand of hair out of her face, "Alright clever clogs, whatever you say."

"What did I just write on you? Just now?" Jim pursed his lips knowing that she had not been paying any attention what so ever to his fingers ministrations.

"When?" there was laughter in Molly's voice, she enjoyed Jim like this, playful and sleepy. They both knew he was milking the whole "Measles" thing now, he was well enough to be up and about yesterday but neither of them wished to acknowledge it.

"Just now! I wrote an entire paragraph out on your stomach and you didn't even have the good grace to read it?" he raised his eyebrows as though offended, both of them knowing he was in his element.

"We were talking, that's hardly fair, a bit of warning wouldn't have gone amiss?!"

Jim shook his head in disappointment, "I wouldn't have needed warning."

Wriggling her way out from under him, she flung a leg either side of his hips so that Jim was pinned beneath her, Molly giggled some more, "That's because you're bonkers…" she went to pin his hands, just in case,"…and clever…I suppose." She gazed down at Jim, who was still all smiles and big brown eyes despite her observations. Molly pushed away the unsettling realisation that she may never have been this content before in her life.

No so much as trying to get out of her grasps Jim coo'ed up at her, "Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know what I wrote? I would be, I'm always curious me."

Finally releasing her hold Molly sat back, legs still flung either side of him, "Go on then, enlighten me."

Still lain down, Jim folded his arms with the expression of a cat that had gotten the cream and the cake as well, "Nope!"

"Please?" Molly squinted, knowing her simple courtesy wouldn't work on Jim.

"No! I'll never tell!" Jim's sing song voice rung out as Molly sneaked a hand up his t-shirt to his ribs, she had recently found out how ticklish he was.

"Oh Jimmy, pleeeeeaaaaassseee!" she knew she was playing right into his hands, enhancing every little facet of his superiority complex; she didn't care.

Now wriggling and jolting at every brush of her hands on his sides Jim bit out his words,"Nooo…serves you right….pay more attention next time!"

The next morning Molly woke to the steady beat of Jim's breath on the back of her neck, she snuggled into his warmth for a few minutes before her full bladder and dry mouth demanded that she got out of bed. When she returned to their bedroom, two mugs of tea in her hand Jim greeted her with a yawn and the cutest case of bedhead she'd ever seen.

She extended one hand to Jim, waiting for him to take the tea from her. Instead he reached to her other hand and took the mug she had held back for herself.

That one action, as inoffensive as it may have seemed from anyone else was the single most insulting gesture that anyone had ever directed at Molly in her life.

"What?" Jim asked, taking a sip of tea as though he was oblivious to his own misdemeanour.

Molly did not answer; she merely looked back at him in disbelief.

"You know your nostrils flare a bit when you're angry. Most people would find that a turn off but I think it's sexy!" Jim's attempts at banter weren't going to alleviate the rage building in Molly, he could sense it. Truth was he did get a kick out of seeing her so pissed off, there was a fight in her that everyone underestimated. Everyone except Jim.

"IF YOU'RE SO BLOODY CLEVER JIM, TELL ME THIS; WHY WOULD I DRIVE THROUGH THE NIGHT TO MEET WITH ONE OF YOUR FUCKING HENCHMEN TO GET YOU ANTIBIOTICS, BRING THEM BACK AND LOOK AFTER YOU FOR A WEEK, ONLY TO POISON YOUR TEA AS SOON AS YOU'RE BETTER?!"

Unable to resist stoking her fury Jim's eyes widened, "The element of surprise?"

Jim had to physically dive out of the way as a mug of hot tea was hurled towards his head and smashed into the wall behind him.

"YOU'RE UNBELIEVEABLE! YOU'RE MAD – YOU KNOW THAT?!" all the fear she ever felt for Jim was overridden by the hurt she felt scalding her soul, she knew he would turn on her any minute, stop with his playing and do something terrible to her, but she didn't care.

"Really? You're just getting that now? " Jim deadpanned.

Standing up and wiping a few errant tears from her face, "It must be bloody lonely Jim…"her voice was calmer now, steady and even and she fought for breath,"…to doubt the only person in the world who cares about you."

"You should know love." The joviality had vanished from Jim's tone now and Molly considered what he meant. It was true, she had never had what you could call an extensive collection of close family and friends. Jim had become her world but she couldn't say she trusted him.

"No one gets to me Molly. No one. Did you think you were special?" he crept forward, standing to face her, trying to lock his eyes with hers but Molly was willing to do anything but.

Grinding her jaw , Molly's fists clenched, finding courage that she didn't know she had she spoke in a low sincere tone,"I hate you."

She didn't see it but for a split second, before he could readjust his well composed mask, Jim looked as though he had been smacked.

But Jim didn't let trivial feelings get the better of him for long…before Molly had the chance to register the hurt her words had caused his cold exterior was back in place, "Of course you do, but that's by-the-by. Are you packed yet?"

Still seething and disappointed that her words had seemingly no effect on him what so ever Molly glanced back at him confused, "Packed?"

Jim picked up his mobile phone from the bedside table, absently jabbing at the screen with his thumb, "Yes dear, packed."

A sudden queasy feeling crept over her, what was he up to this time? Had she pushed her luck too far?

"Packed for what?"

With a condescending tut Jim glanced up from his phone, "Told you all about it last night, though you were too busy watching Crime Watch to take notice."

"Is this…" Molly faltered,"…is this what you were writing out on me last night?" her voice was weary, it really was hard to keep up with him sometimes, nothing was ever insignificant.

"Bingo! Clever girl. Keep up that kind of sleuthing and I'm sure the long winter evenings will just fly by!" he was mocking her now, rummaging around in the wardrobe and flinging a designer holdall in her direction, "Chop chop, get all of your girly bits together and Daddy will take you to the train station."

Molly looked at the holdall and back at Jim, "What are you on about, stop speaking in riddles?!"

Without warning Jim kicked the holdall directly at her, he meant for it to hit that time, "I'M BORED OF YOU MOLLY. FOR GODSAKE YOU'RE GOING HOME YOU STUPID GIRL! NOW PACK! I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANY OF YOUR CRAP LYING AROUND HERE WHEN YOU'RE GONE!"

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of more tears, he'd had enough of those from her. She wouldn't beg him to let her stay, admit that he'd been right all along and that she had grown to love the monster, she supposed that made her a monster too.

Molly gathered the few things that she could really call hers into the bag, silently gathering clothes and toiletries, it wasn't a lot to show for almost two years of her life. By that evening she was sat back in her old flat as though nothing had ever happened.

No one had ever looked for her, it turned out. Jim had hacked her email and told anyone whom may care that she was taking a sabbatical to do charity work in Sudan. He'd maintained the rent on her flat and even ensured Toby was fed. It seemed the little feline was the only one who had ever missed her at all.

Everything was the same as it had always been, except Molly.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello you lovely lovely readers! Thank you so much for your continued support, it's always great to hear from you. I'm sorry I'm averaging about a week per chapter at the moment but I am really busy with work and I have a husband that I'm trying really hard not to neglect too haha!

**Chapter 9**

"Moved out of the house, so you moved next door  
>I locked you out, you cut a hole in the wall<br>I found you sleeping next to me, I thought I was alone  
>You're driving me crazy, when are you coming home?"<p>

-Laid by James

Molly did her best to adjust to normal life again but somehow she didn't seem to fit into it anymore, she felt like a 33 year old trying to squeeze back into her school uniform, uncomfortable and ridiculous. It wasn't that ordinary life had lost its colour; it was that it never had any colour in the first place and she'd been given a mere glimpse of Technicolor, a two year glimpse in fact and the staring character was James Moriarty.

She had considered counselling, she knew it wasn't mentally healthy to long for a man who stole you away from your life and kept you as his pet. She knew full well it wasn't right to dream of him most nights and be drawn instinctively to every man who wore the same aftershave as him, and yet she couldn't bring herself to exorcise the demon, she didn't want to forget Jim, she didn't want to let go of what they had, regardless of how wrong it was.

He had left an indelible mark on her, her body told of beatings she had taken for him, the scar of a bite on her shoulder sat there smugly day after day, his signature labelling her as his. Other lovers would have to look upon that mark when they were with her, as she made do with them and lied to herself that they could in some way compare to him.

Molly made vain attempts to reclaim herself, she spent an obscene amount of money on new clothes, mothballing her cardigans and shapeless blouses and replacing them with skinny jeans and dresses that showed her modest curves. She even had her hair cut into a more flattering style; it hung just past her shoulders now and had much more body. Yet when she looked in the mirror to assess the results it was Jim's voice in her head, "Look at you, Molly 2.0! Very nice, Daddy's pleased!"

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Jim was used to being ahead of the game; nothing got the better of him, ever. For as long as he could remember things had to be on his terms, if Jim couldn't control it he put an end to it, whatever the cost. Molly was only ever supposed to be a convenience to him, and more importantly her absence an inconvenience to Sherlock Holmes. His initial plan was to steal away Sherlock's little lab rat and impede his work. Without access to the morgue and all the favours that Molly so willingly threw his way, his cases wouldn't be half as easy to solve and his reputation would be all the easier to ruin.

Sherlock had always underestimated Molly, she barely even showed up on his radar except for when he wanted something, but Jim could see her uses. She had a good knowledge of anatomy, she could offer insights on the most efficient and inconspicuous methods of ending someone's life. Of course she wasn't keen on sharing such titbits with him in the early days, but towards the end of their liaison she'd merrily rattled off all kinds of insightful facts whilst resting in his arms content as a kitten, usually in a post coital haze.

It wasn't meant to turn out this way. She wasn't supposed to grow on him, hell he'd never even thought it possible. Jim regarded all ordinary people with the same distain; it enabled him to see them as a commodity and end their sorry little existences whenever it aided his plans. But over time, Molly ceased to be ordinary…and it troubled him.

He had known for a while that he was indulging himself, he'd broken her spirit long ago, torn her down and rebuilt her as someone new. The fear had long since disappeared from her eyes, replaced with something softer; he wasn't used to being looked at like that, though he couldn't say he didn't like it. Despite his better judgment he had grown accustom to her warmth and acceptance and so he found himself telling her things, things he'd never told anyone.

All of this meant one thing, it gave Molly _power_. Power over him, and he couldn't have that.

The days they spent together while he was recovering from the measles and more to the point the days he wasted pretending to _still _be recovering, just for the love of her company, were the final straw. Like ripping off a plaster, it would hurt for a second but she'd just have to go.

But it hurt for more than a second; the sting of her leaving wouldn't go away. Jim ordered cameras be put up in Molly's flat just so that he could watch her, at the same time paying his men a small fortune to track her whereabouts. Of course none of them dare question him but as the weeks turned into months there were murmurs amongst the ranks that the boss was just stalking this woman because he was sweet on her. Jim ordered Sabastian to kill a few of them just for being right.

Seb followed Jim's orders dutifully and to the letter, more often than not he did so without query. This however was _not_ one of those occasions, "Boss…" Sebastian's eyes narrowed, wondering if he was about to make a grave mistake.

"Yes dear?" Jim looked up from his laptop, the glow from the screen lighting his features in a rather unsettling way.

"…why are we stalking this Hooper woman? There doesn't seem to be any reason to it? It's taking up resources, you know?" As hard as he tried Sebastian couldn't make his query sound anything but accusatory.

In an instant Jim's back was up, "I AM NOT STALKING HER!" he pressed his thumb and forefinger together and placed emphasis on the word `stalking', it clearly offended him so.

"HAVE YOU GOTTEN SO COMFORTABLE THAT YOU THINK YOU CAN QUESTION MY MOTIVES?! YOU'RE NOT IRRIPLACABLE, AND YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT I DON'T GET RID OF EMPLOYEES BY HANDING THEM THEIR P45! I SINCERELY SUGGEST YOU KEEP YOUR QUESTIONS TO YOURSELF IN FUTURE! THIS IS FAIR WARNING; WATCH YOURSELF MORAN!" Jim's anger was like a tidal wave, it was almost as though the spite and malice radiating off him had a spirit of its own and Jim was a mere vessel for it, such was its ferocity.

Stepping back cautiously, head bowed like a schoolboy being scolded in front of the whole class Sebastian nodded, he had borne the brunt of Jim's temper many times but he'd also become accustomed to some preferential treatment over the years too. He had dared to think of himself as the closest thing that Jim had to a friend. Maybe it was that notion that lead him to dare to say what he said next, "Understood. I better get off anyway; your Miss Hooper has a date."

And with that revelation Sebastian made his exit, his legs barely able to carry him down the office staircase quick enough, if he could reach the ground floor without Jim putting a bullet in the back of his skull he would probably live to see another day.

Instead Jim stood perfectly still, staring at the spot where Sebastian had been just moments before.

A date? Suddenly the world was whirring around him, there was a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach the likes of which he'd not felt for many years. For so long Jim had placed such little value on everything and everyone around him that emotions were more or less redundant. Nothing was irreplaceable and everyone could be bought, you just had to name the right price and offer the correct currency.

But Molly Hooper, she suddenly seemed priceless.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Molly stared wistfully at the brain in the lab bucket, weighing it and dutifully noting down its credentials, she lingered on the lifeless grey matter a few moments longer, wondering if it was the result of Jim's handy work. She was shaken from her thoughts by the buzz of her phone receiving a text message. Thwacking the latex gloves off her hands, she fumbled in her lab coat for her phone.

_*Hey! It's Tom, from Alistair's 30__th__ last week. I was the gangly one with the scarf lol! Hope you don't mind, got your number off Al. Wondered if you might like to go for coffee sometime? xx*_

Molly blinked a few times at the screen, considering Tom's proposition. She recalled him instantly, he'd been more or less the only person to speak to her at the party, apart from the few cursory, `_How are you?_' and, `_You must tell me about Sudan, back in a moment!'_ that people threw her way when they thought they had to be polite.

He was about her age, not bad looking, funny in a goofy kind of way and he was right; he was gangly. But still, there was something warm and familiar about Tom that she couldn't quite put her finger on, she had found herself fond of him for no reason at all, before he even spoke she thought, _"I like you"_. He didn't set her blood flowing or cause her to choke on her words at the sound of his accent…no nothing like that, but he was a comforting brand of boring and maybe that was just what she needed right now.

For a second Jim's words echoed through her mind, _"If you do this with me, you won't be doing it with anyone else ever again. I won't share you." _Just the recollection of his caution made her tingle, but her memories of Jim weren't all as delicious as that one. She tried her hardest to banish the image of him tossing a holdall in her general direction and throwing her out like a whore, with steely, defiant resolve she began to text back.

_*Tom! Hi, great to hear from you! Sure, coffee would be lovely. When's good for you? Molly x*_

The date itself was quite unremarkable; they huddled in the corner of a faceless chain coffee shop, their polite, sterile conversation being punctuated by the odd gust of steam from the milk frother. Tom droned on about his parents golden retriever as Molly zoned out, her eyes focused on a little girl, no more than about three years old, throwing herself on the floor in the most violent manner because he mother wouldn't give her more chocolate. Molly felt an affinity with the child_, `Poor thing, I know what that feels like…I wish I could throw myself on the floor too'_ she thought.

"Earth to Molly! Sorry, was I going on about Jasper again? I do that!" Tom waved a hand in front of Molly's glazed face, dragging her eyes away from the girl on the floor.

"Oh God! No, I'm so sorry, I was just…distracted." she stumbled out her apology in the most gushing way she could muster; people expected that of her, bumbling Molly Hooper.

"No no, it's fine. Perhaps we should go somewhere a bit quieter next time, ay? Somewhere with an age restriction…that is if you want there to be a _next time_?" Tom's question was delivered with the slightest hint of self-assurance.

_God he reminded her of someone...who was it?_

Put on the spot Molly returned to her default setting of awkward compliance, "Next time? Oh yes, right, of course! I'd like that. That is, if you'd like that too?"

Chuckling at her mishmash of an acceptance Tom grinned back at her, "I know a wonderful little Italian place, it's not far from Barts, do you fancy dinner? Next week - maybe?"

Molly's internal monologue was working overtime, bombarding her with questions she didn't know the answers to _,"What are you doing? Why are you bothering? Is this what you want? What about Jim?"_

Putting on her best excited expression Molly nodded enthusiastically, "Sounds lovely!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey Guys! Thank you all so much for your continued support, the reviews I have received have been so constructive and they have really helped me shape this chapter. You're all so kind and generous, Molliarty fans are one of the ****friendliest fandoms I have ever encountered. ****  
><strong>

**Special thanks to JJBlueBell, she's thrown ideas around with me and spurred me on. If you want more Jim-fic I highly recommend her new story,"Birds of a Feather Flock Together", it's a really interesting new take on Jim! **

**Chapter 10**

"The word's on the street: you've found someone new.  
>If he looks nothing like me I'm so happy for you.<br>I heard an old girlfriend has turned to the church -  
>she's trying to replace me, but it'll never work.<br>'Cos every touch reminds you of just how sweet it could have been  
>And every time he kisses you it leaves behind the bitter taste of saccharine.<br>A bad cover version of love is not the real thing.  
>Bikini-clad girl on the front who invited you in.<br>Such great disappointment when you got him home -  
>the original was so good; the one you no longer own."<p>

Bad Cover Version - Pulp

Tom had been the perfect gentleman all evening. The restaurant was just as he had said, a lovely little Italian. The décor was authentic and her starter had been delicious and yet it was all that Molly could do to follow conversation.

Tom was raking over the details of a recent case that had been sensationalised in the news. A Queens Guard had been found dead but there was no murder weapon to be found. Molly tried her best to stifle a yawn as he launched wholeheartedly in to his theory of what the murder weapon might be.

His explanation; frozen meat. A ,"meat dagger" as it were.

Woefully miscalculating his deduction as jest Molly laughed directly in his face, it was the first genuine laugh she'd had in ages, and it required every ounce of her iron will to repress it when Tom's face fell into a disgruntled frown.

"Well, what's your theory then?" Tom shot back with a note of irritation; he had clearly been looking to amaze her, or at least not induce a giggling fit.

"Oh I'm sorry, it's just the way it sounds…_meat dagger_…it's funny. It's a good theory, really it is." Molly did her best not to titter her way through her apology with limited success.

To her relief Tom's features softened, "No it's not, it's terrible…" he cracked a smile that lit up his face and made him look really quite handsome in the flattering candle light of the restaurant."…I was just trying to impress you, I read your blog, I know you're in to all of that crime solving stuff."

Molly took a sip of her wine in hope that it would suppress her irritation at the simplistic, dismissive term, _"Crime solving stuff"._

With a visible cringe Molly cast her mind back to her old blog, "Oh God, don't go reading that old thing, I've not updated it in years. I was young and…naive shall we say."

Tom's brows met in a most inquisitive fashion, "Yeah, I noticed that you'd stopped updating it a while ago, why did you stop, it was a good read?"

Aligning her cutlery Molly considered her answer; the truth was even less believable than Tom's _meat dagger_ theory. It would be her turn to be laughed at should she try to explain that she was kidnapped by a consulting criminal for a few years, and that really ate into her schedule.

"Oh you know, life got in the way and all that. The wifi wasn't great in Sudan!" She explained laughter once again ringing out in her voice, this time it was a defence mechanism, she would never be fully comfortable playing along with the lie that Jim had created for her.

"What's your explanation…come on, I'm dying to hear your theory." Tom wasn't challenging her to come up with a better explanation than him as he was moments before, he genuinely wanted her take on things, he clearly valued her opinion.

"Well…" Molly paused; she'd not given the recent mystery much thought at all. She knew better than most that people showed up dead every day of the week, you couldn't explain all of them. "…if no weapon could be found, then maybe there was no weapon."

As anticipated Molly was rewarded with a quirked eyebrow.

"Of course _something_ killed him, but maybe the murder weapon was something more mundane? An item of clothing could have been tampered with? Or maybe we're just dealing with a professional, someone trained to not leave any clues."

Tom looked somewhat unsatisfied with her explanation, perhaps he was looking for something more elaborate than the truth,"Master criminals? Isn't that a bit _comic book_?" he scoffed.

Something about Tom's offhand comment twanged her nerves, "I'm not talking about your stereotypical villain! I'm talking about businessmen, organised professional people who deal in criminal activity for profit…and their own amusement. People with connections and power beyond your wildest dreams"

Tom nodded seriously for a moment before dissolving into laughter, "Alright spooky Mulder, whatever you say!"

"No really!" Molly geared up for what was set to be a heated debate but before she could get started Tom rose from his seat and excused himself, "Hold that thought, just off to the little boys room!"

Molly sat patiently as minutes trickled away and she began to notice some decisively pitying looks from the restaurant staff and other patrons alike. The waiter whom had presumably drawn the short straw made his way over and asked if she was ready to order the main course, "No, not quite yet, my date is just at the loo, shouldn't me much longer…" she gazed up at the older gent, knowing as well as he did that she had been ditched. Finally Molly let her pretense fall, throwing the napkin she had been fiddling with on to the table she looked up again with big, honest eyes, "Oh you know what, bugger it, I'll get the bill." The waiter nodded compliantly before shuffling off to fetch the check.

Molly huffed, resting her chin in her hand. This evening actually knocked hers and Jim's trip to the theater off the top spot in the, "Worst dates ever embarked upon" chart of her life.

She'd not come across that strange… _had she?_ That he would actually feel compelled to just leg-it out of the back door? Was she that weird? It was hard to tell these days, if there was one thing Jim had embraced about Molly, it was her weirdness; he'd cultivated it in fact. That was another way in which he had ruined her for everyone else. _Great._

Pulling herself to her feet Molly settled the bill, shrugged on her coat and went in search of a cab, luckily there was a Hackney Carriage just waiting for a fair, not far up the road. Molly swung open the back door and flung herself into the back seat.

"Where to, love?" the cabbie crooned from the driver's seat in a thick cockney accent.

"Milton Street please" Molly huddled back into the seat wishing it would swallow her up. She didn't so much as protest when he took a turn to go the long way around, she was so thoroughly fed up she didn't have an argument in her. Instead she meekly gazed out of the window taking in the warm glow of the neon lights, recalling how it used to comfort her when she was a child, making her feel tiny and insignificant in this big machine that was "London".

The cabbie spoke up in his over the top Phil Mitchel voice, "Everything alright love, only you seem a bit upset?"

Molly was grateful for the kindness of this stranger, even if he was taking her the long route home, "I'm fine…really…just got ditched that's all, silly really. I'd only seen him a few times before."

Inwardly she chastised herself, why was she telling the poor man the details? He was only asking after her to be polite!

"His loss! Not worth your tears I wouldn't 'av thought" the driver called back over his shoulder.  
>"No, you're probably right. S'not really him I'm crying about though, not really." She bit her lips together, wanting, willing herself to just shut up. Had she not made a big enough fool of herself for one night?<p>

"Someone else?" he prompted as they came to a standstill at the traffic lights.

Still looking longingly out at the London nightlife Molly nodded," Yeah, I was seeing someone for a while before…it was complicated."

"Ahhh…but when isn't it complicated? Least it keeps you on your toes eh?" the cabbie offered by way of counsel.

Molly scoffed, oh if only he knew what she meant by _complicated._

"Problem is I'm not sure anyone else is ever going to be complicated enough for me ever again…he was quite the conundrum my ex." Her voice started off confident but trailed off to almost a whisper as she described Jim as her, _"ex"._

"Was he good to you?" the driver's voice sounded a bit more concerned than before and his accent a shade less silly.

Blinking past tears Molly considered the question," No, not all the time but somehow that made the times he was good to me all the better…I suppose that sounds rather pathetic, but if you knew him you'd understand. _Good_ didn't come easy to him." she found words pouring out of her faster than she could control them. She had not been able to discuss Jim with another living soul since her return; but it seemed safe enough to talk to a stranger.

"Funny old thing, the heart." the cabbie mused taking yet another wrong turn. She really ought to have told him, how was it that someone with such a strong London accent could know its back roads so badly? It was a wonder this bloke made any money at all, his sense of direction was so poor.

Still, Molly found something strangely comforting in his presence, and boy did he smell good, "Hmm, yeah _hilarious_ my heart. I won't be listening to it next time I can tell you, I'm going with my head from now on. My heart's an idiot" she quipped, earning her a genuine laugh from her new acquaintance, funny how his laugh didn't match his accent.

"Ah don't be so cynical pet…he must have had some redeeming features?" It struck Molly as more of a question than an observation. Her eyes were prone on the back of the drivers head for a few lingering moments as she formulated her reply.

"Not that many, he was arrogant, short tempered, had a massive God complex, he was manipulative, contrary…" she knew she really ought to stop listing Jim's shortcomings like that, after all it spoke volumes that she still achingly missed a man with so many faults, but as always her mouth got the better of her,"…he was ridiculously competitive, jealous, but I suppose…" she paused, noticing that the cabbies knuckles were now white on the wheel.

"Suppose what?" he prompted, his voice was now almost entirely devoid of its previous cockney twang.

With a bite of her lip and a roll of her eyes Molly dared to continue, "I suppose I loved him despite all that, I think maybe I even loved him _because_ of all that. He was exciting, interesting, sometimes funny…terrible at accents, no sense of direction…" she now set her stare solidly on the back of the cab drivers head and waited for the penny to drop,"…he wasn't always as clever as he liked to think he was."

"Oh come on it wasn't that bad, I was quite pleased with the accent!" Jim's soft Irish tones filled the cab and warmed Molly through and through. She hated herself a little bit for the ridiculous grin that she couldn't remove from her face, at least while he was driving he couldn't see how pleased that she was to see him.

"It was terrible! You sounded like Dick Van Dyke!"

Sliding the rather silly looking flat cap off his head and ruffling his hand through his hair Jim craned his neck to look at her through his rear view mirror, "I thought bad cover versions were your thing these days Miss Hooper?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she replied haughtily.

Jim finally took the correct turning on to Molly's street, "Oh come on! You're Sherlock knock off back there? Boring you to tears!"

Suddenly feeling affronted at Jim's accusation, "You've been watching me?!"

Will a dismissive wave of his hand Jim didn't so much as bother to try and justify his spying and went straight back to the subject that was clearly irking him, "He looked like Sherlock, a really bad car-boot Sherlock!"

Molly remained seated, hands gripping on to the upholstery as they pulled up outside her flat, "He was nothing like Sherlock, that's rid…"

Without even letting her finish Jim snapped in to interrupt her, "HE WAS! With his stupid floppy hair and stupid coat and cheap looking scarf!"

Were it not for the venom in Jim's voice Molly would have teased him for being jealous, but he was facing her now, those big puppy dog eyes of his were cold and raging, and she knew better than to goad him when he looked like that.

She crossed the cab to sit on the seat that backed on to the driver's seat, wanting to get a better look at him; she could gauge him better that way.

"I wasn't…" Molly shuffled around, looking for inoffensive words that would convey what she wanted to say without riling Jim more,"…I wasn't interested in him, not really. He was nice, but I think we both know_, `nice'_ doesn't really do it for me."

Jim sat back in his seat, still half facing her but looking a note more relaxed than a few moments ago, "Is that why you went to La Senza this afternoon and bought new underwear? Because he looked nothing like our dear old Sherlock and you had no intention what so ever of taking him home tonight?" it was probably play acting but Molly thought she might detect a hint of hurt in his voice and it damn near killed her.

Feeling increasingly hot under the collar Molly attempted to arrange the jumble of things she had wanted to say to him in her head. She had rehearsed this moment in her head so many times, night after night and now he was here in front of her none of it seemed adequate.

"No one's like you Jim…" she began to explain, her hands now gripping at the wire mesh that separated the drivers cab from the rest of the taxi. "…no one even comes close to being like you. You we're all I knew for two years, you got under my skin and now I can't get you out. You had me completely, then you threw me away when you were done." She knew she was playing with fire but Jim didn't have a monopoly on anger, the more she began to explain herself the more she began to seethe.

If she didn't know him better she would have said that her words seemed to affect him, his glare on her softened and he looked down to his lap, unable to maintain eye contact as she spat out the words_`…threw me away…'_

"You said you were bored of me…didn't think you'd mind."

Jim looked up from his lap, his expression was one of disbelief, "What? Do you seriously think I'd stand by and watch you waste yourself on some jumped up little nobody? Why would you just give yourself away like that…to him of all people?!"

Suddenly Molly's anger was replaced by a more urgent notion of foreboding. It suddenly seemed quite unlikely that Tom had bolted from the restaurant of his own accord, "What have you done to him? Jimmy… Tom, where is he?"

"DON'T YOU DARE DEFEND HIM MOLL'S! I SWEAR TO GOD I'll CRASH THIS HEAP OF SHIT IN TO THE NEAREST WALL IF I HEAR YOU UTTER HIS NAME AGAIN! THIS ISN'T ABOUT HIM!" Jim punched his closed fist onto the steering wheel causing Molly to jump out of her skin.

Closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the wire that separated them, she let out a deep sigh, hoping to God that Tom hadn't just been added to Jim Moriarty's body count but too cautious to pursue the issue.

"What _is_ it about Jim?" like a child reaching out a hand to pet a lion she reached through the gap in the mesh to stroke his cheek with the back of her fingers. He could have grabbed at her, hurt her perhaps but instead he lifted his hand to hers and intertwined their fingers. Molly's question hung in the air unanswered, she'd never seen him like this before, conflicted, puzzled, unsure.

_He doesn't know! He doesn't know what all this was about or why he was here._

Molly was by no means fluent in the language of James Moriarty but she could work out that much, for the first time in his life he didn't have the answer.

_Good Lord that must be driving him mad_.

With a playful smile Molly gestured towards the cab's meter, "How much do I owe you then?"

The grin that Jim cast her way could only be described as feral, Molly's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it, "Oh my girl, you have no _idea_ what you owe me, but I'm going to get it from you, don't you worry."


End file.
